City of Chaos
by David Golightly
Summary: A storm of mystical origins has merged New York and Gotham City together! Spider-Man, Dr. Strange, Batman, Dr. Fate and others find themselves at the center of a plot to raise an ancient evil to supreme power.
1. Chapter 1

**CITY OF CHAOS #1**

Written by D. Golightly

* * *

There is a house in Greenwich Village, a section of New York City populated by both the rich and the famous, but not entirely limited to their number, that few are able to see. It stands several floors tall and is entirely visible from even a block away, having nearly no foliage or other obstructions to hide it from view. However, hundreds of people walked by it day after day without so much a clue as to its existence. There was only one thing keeping the naked eye from seeing the old building, dubbed the Sanctum Sanctorum – magic.

177A Bleecker Street was not found on any mailing lists, nor was it known to exist by any agency of adequate standing. Its owner, a man that few could call a friend, rarely came outside its protective walls unless absolutely necessary. The same invisible veil covering the grounds of the Sanctum was also interwoven with delicate spells of protection, ensuring the safety of all who entered. Once a notable and skilled surgeon, the doctor who lived there passes his times by more innovational means these days.

Deep within the hallways of this massive mansion, that only those could see who had been granted permission, a pair heartily conversed while they walked. One, a lumbering green behemoth that many would deem a monster or demon, curled his upper lip, nearly covering his black snout.

"I struggle to comprehend this law you describe," the green-furred creature stated. "I have seen many things do what you say simply cannot happen. I concede that extraordinary forces sometimes bend such understandings, but would you use the word 'law' so innocently?"

His companion, a sleek woman with silvery white hair, cleared her throat before replying. "Rintrah, the laws of physics are different according to the dimension. Magic can transcend those borders, making it possible to not only bend those laws, but outright break them. Even still, there are some certainties and absolutes that I believe even people like us can't overlook."

"But you say that two things cannot occupy the same place," Rintrah commented. "Lady Clea, I have witnessed the acts of my master, your husband, and seen the impossible. To say that these laws are universal according to this plane of existence implies that the doctor has done something he shouldn't have been able to do. How would you explain that?"

Clea shrugged her shoulders slightly as the pair rounded a turn in the hallway. "Magic," she answered. "The Sorcerer Supreme has many tricks up his sleeve, least of all making the impossible seem easily accomplished."

"But what of things like spiritual possession? Surely you're not suggesting—"

"Rintrah," Clea said, cutting the much larger creature off with a slight wave of her hand. "_You_ asked _me_, remember? I'm just explaining to you what I know about it. I'm not pretending to have all the answers. My husband would be much more suitable for that. Where did you even hear about the laws of physics anyway? Is that part of your studies now?"

The large creature, who closely resembled a mythical minotaur in that he was covered in fur, had hooves for feet, and horns atop his head, blew out a lungful of air through his large nostrils before replying. "No. I was watching an after-school special on public television. The master does not know that Wong gave me a TV for Christmas last year, and I would prefer he not find out. The new season of _American Idol_ begins soon."

Clea stifled a laugh. Rintrah had delicate feelings for a beast of his size, a fact that often made him seem more human than those she met in the outside world. His appearance was also misleading, as one would never guess that the young Rintrah was actually the apprentice to the Sorcerer Supreme, and an accomplished magician in his own right. He had proven his mettle enough to earn the original cloak and amulet of his master, treasures that the young sorcerer kept close at hand in case a crisis arose.

Clea was a renowned sorceress in her own right, having attained the throne of the Dark Dimension, a realm filled with danger and magical creatures. It was in that realm she had first met the man she married, in which he rescued her in such a chivalrous manner that she often poked fun at him. Her silver hair was her trademark, as well as the pink and purple guise she had grown accustomed to wearing.

"Your secret is safe with me," she assured Rintrah. "Of course, since I don't even know where my husband is, it would be impossible for me to tattle."

"Wong made mention that the master was locked in his inner chamber, investigating something on the astral plane."

"Then it would be unwise for us to disturb the great Doctor Strange. The Sorcerer Supreme of Earth is a heavy mantle to bear, and I would hesitate to rap on that chamber door for most anything."

Rintrah let out a chortling noise from deep in his throat; his version of laughter. "These walls have seen 'most anything,' Lady Clea. In my short stay here even I realize that."

Clea nodded in agreement. "Even still, it is the next great crisis he remains ever vigil for. I admire him for it, but it must be exhausting." The pair began to ascend a flight of stairs, their feet pushing into the red, thick carpet that lined the floorboards. "I wonder if he would take a break if we invited him to watch a bit of your TV."

"My lady, please!" Rintrah exclaimed, flustered.

The pair of friends continued their walk, exploring the ever-changing halls of the Sanctum Sanctorum, unaware of the veiled presence carefully watching their every move. For as great as their powers and senses were, even they could not tell of the lingering soul that had somehow pierced the masking spells that Doctor Strange himself had cast.

The presence, invisible in several senses of the word, followed Rintrah and Clea up the staircase, deeper inside the Sanctum. If its bodiless form had a face, it surely would have smiled.

* * *

"_Iacio phasmatis ex somes!_"

The ancient words escaped from the man's lips, instantly charged with an effort of will and borrowed power. The man felt the spell wind around his hovering body, which hung in the air effortlessly thanks to the cloak of levitation he wore, and dive into his inner consciousness.

The man's body seemed to go limp, but to the trained eye everything was not as it seemed. So was the norm for Doctor Stephan Strange, Sorcerer Supreme.

The spell, a rather simple improvement on the original that Strange had designed himself, wrapped around Strange's very soul and allowed it to float free of his mortal coil. What no one without magical awareness could see was Strange's astral form, the condensed essence of his inner being, slip out of his body and rise into to the ceiling. He had locked himself in his private chamber after mentally becoming aware of a powerful presence skating the astral plane, and his earliest investigations had ended with him being cast back to the earthly plane. Now that he had wound a spell of protection into the initial astral projection spell, whoever had shut him out before would find it much more difficult now.

His astral form still retained his physical characteristics; a goatee speckled with gray hair, dark eyes that were as deep as the night, his red and gold cloak, and his blue tunic with a black design across his chest. The only difference was that all color had been drained from his form and replaced with shades of white and gray, giving him the general appearance of a ghost.

Doctor Strange's stark white soul drifted through the ceiling, leaving behind the contents of his chamber, which included his physical body. Bookshelves filled with tomes gathered in his research lined the walls, no longer useful in learning the identity of the one he sensed. The physical world was unsuited for this journey and only personal exploration of the astral plane would give him the answers he sought.

He passed through the ceiling effortlessly, rising through the next and then the next just the same. Once he popped out of the roof of the Sanctum, the quite normal scene of Greenwich had been sprinkled with abnormal things. Things that should a regular citizen ever see, might run the risk of driving them mad.

Being conscious on the astral plane entitled a person to see things that only existed there, however still had an impact on the world. Lost spirits, hostile demons, and even jocular sprites lived in the astral plane, feeding off of the rampant energies that so often cascaded off of the doctor's place of residence. A nest of translucent leeches nibbled near the base of his home, consuming a bit of magic that had oozed out of the foundation. The very piece of land that the Sanctum had been built on had significance, having once been the location of arcane rituals.

Doctor Strange quickly glanced over the general scene of Bleecker Street, dismissing nearly everything there. It was at this point that something, a force powerful enough to disrupt his spell, had thrown him back into his body. The random paranormal parasites held no interest for him, but when he gazed upward toward the sky he saw something rather shocking.

A large white hole had formed a few hundred feet directly over the Sanctum, similar to tears in reality he had seen in the past. He sensed it more than saw it, as the power emanating in waves out of the portal nearly bowled him over.

"By the hoary hosts…" Strange muttered as he began to ascend toward the gaping portal.

He came within a few feet of the rift, close enough to let his ghostly hand touch its surface. A chill ran through him, generated from the outer rim of the white portal. The magic was familiar, but not wholly in tune with his home dimension. The iris was open, allowing him to see through the window in space and look on with fascination at what was on the other side.

The rooftops of a dark city looked back at him, illuminated by a cloudless night sky. The moon hung over the cityscape like a watching god, silently staring at the buildings it overlooked. Strange looked into his own sky and saw the sun just about to fall below the horizon, a time which normally meant that things powered by magic would feel a bit stronger.

"A doorway then," Strange commented as he pulled his attention back to the portal. "But to where? Another part of the globe, perhaps, where the sun has already set?"

He contorted his hand in such a way to signify a spell being cast, and the tips of his astral fingers began to glow with magical energy. Doctor Strange traced the rim of the portal, assessing its origins. It was definitely cast by a user he had never encountered, as its magical signature was foreign to him. Still, there were traces that seemed somehow homespun.

As he let his fingers dip into the ether of the rim, Strange blinked, sensing something specific about the spell. "Someone has passed through already," he murmured. "And not from this side."

Before the doctor's apparition could ponder the matter further, the images on the other side of the gateway began to spin and condense as if in a pool of water. The buildings blurred together, molding into a sheet of darkened night. Strange retracted his hand, but no sooner had he done so than another hand, dressed in a golden glove, shot out of the portal and latched onto his wrist.

Doctor Strange held back with all his might, but the leverage was not on his side. The hand pulled him forward and through the mystical doorway, forcing him to enter the dark void. His senses were bombarded with disorientation and the spell of protection he had blended with his astral form were nearly at their limit. The pressure of being forced through a dimensional rift was something he had not prepared for, but he remained fortified through the ordeal.

The noise of passing through the gate deafened him, shutting out all sound except for a sort of static that accompanied the journey. Whereas the other side of the portal had only seemed a few feet away, it was in actuality much further and the doctor was whirling through the distance at an alarming rate.

Then, just as suddenly as the teleportation had begun, it abruptly finished. The churning sensation in his stomach ceased, an odd occurrence since his actual stomach was back in the heart of the Sanctum. Doctor Strange, somewhat of an expert on interdimensional travel, gazed about the new place not with fear, but with wonder.

He had been brought to a large, circular room that was filled with magnificent artifacts such as skulls, books, battle axes, and other trophies that held some kind of significance. The rounded walls were made of brick and were devoid of any windows into the outside world. His gaze settled on the hand in the golden glove that had pulled him through, its owner now standing on the other side of the expansive room. It belonged to a man wearing a blue and gold uniform, with a gold cape reaching to the floor and a golden helmet atop his head. The helmet, shiny and gleaming, slightly surprised Strange from the amount of power it was giving off to his senses.

With the slightest of gestures, the man called up a containment spell that invoked several bands of white energy around Doctor Strange. The bands did not touch his astral form, but he felt a restriction placed on his movements that he attributed to the spell. He quickly looked over them before muttering a counter-spell, and then effortlessly used his hand to slice through the bands, breaking them.

"No one may think to bind me," Strange stated as he returned to staring his host, attempting to better asses him. "I am not your enemy…yet."

"Welcome to my home," the man said. "You weren't the one I was expecting to capture, but your aura being so close to the opening…I assumed you were someone else. I apologize, but given your current state perhaps you can be of assistance."

"Explain yourself," Strange demanded. "Are you the one who invaded my Sanctum Sanctorum?"

The golden helmet tilted to one side, signifying that the man was taken off-guard by the response. He lazily raised a hand and one of the massive books sitting on a table nearby rose into the air and flew over to him. It stopped in front of him and flipped open as the pages began to quickly turn themselves.

"Ah," the man finally said after he placed a finger on one of the pages. "Mordru breeched the boundaries of time and space it would seem. Unless I miss my guess, I would now be in the presence of the Sorcerer Supreme?"

Strange couldn't keep one of his eyebrows from rising slightly. "You would," he replied. "Who are you and where have you brought me?"

"He is the master of the magicks of Order," a feminine voice answered from somewhere to the side. Strange turned to see a beautiful woman enter the room with short, dark hair. Her simple dress only accentuated her charm, and she possessed an air of civility that for some reason reminded him of Clea. "He is Doctor Fate, lord of this tower, where I would remind you that you are a guest."

"Inza," Doctor Fate said, "according to the Book he is our ally. Please, prepare for us some tea."

Inza slightly nodded her head and exited from whence she came in. "You'll have to excuse my wife," Fate said. "Ever since a man name Pariah came into our lives she does not take kindly to visitors."

"Where have you brought me?" Strange asked again.

"This tower is not only my home, but a place of sacred power that I am the keeper of. As my wife told you, I am Doctor Fate, vessel and avatar for one of the Lords of Order. Again, I apologize for dragging you here, but I assumed you were the villain I sought."

"This Mordru person you mentioned," Strange added. "I see. You've heard of my Sanctum before?"

Fate gestured to the open book hovering in front of him, causing it to snap shut and return to the table it had rested on. "Only in passing. The Book of Fate has information from all of the alternate worlds residing between the folds of space and time. Believe me, I am truly humbled to be in your presence and I again apologize for letting my problems spill into your realm."

"And what is it exactly that has stumbled onto my doorstep?"

"Just as I am a vessel for a Lord of Order, so too is Mordru for a Lord of Chaos. Our rivalry is a bitter one, lasting for centuries. He recently eluded me and escaped into a portal of his own creation. I tracked him to your world, however why he journeyed there I cannot fathom."

The Sorcerer Supreme allowed his magical senses to float back out into the rounded chamber, attempting to asses the validity of his host. There was a powerful entity behind Fate's words, an ancient spirit that nearly overran his senses. "And why would I trust you?" Strange inquired.

"Because Mordru will not rest until his mission is carried out. I could lock you away in my tower while I investigate—"

"You could try, but you would not succeed."

The portal behind Strange, still open, suddenly shimmered and its colors twisted once more. Doctor Strange spun around, ready to throw himself back through the portal incase it was some trick of his host to try and snare him again. The milky black background of the ethereal gateway had begun to swirl again, mixing with the outer white rim. Chunks of the rim were breaking off and swirling into the inky darkness at the center of the portal, slowly lightening its color.

"Send me back," Strange demanded. "The Earth plane is my realm to defend, and you cannot keep me here for much longer. Either return me or feel my wrath."

Doctor Fate was about to reply, but the portal exploded outward, bathing both of them in black and white light. The outer rim ruptured, releasing the liquid essence of the doorway out into the room, which quickly evaporated. In a fast display of noise and light, the portal blasted apart and died away, leaving the two doctors alone.

* * *

"That's it," Frank Castle whispered. "Just take one step to the left and it's all over."

The silhouettes in his sniper scope bobbed back and forth behind the fifth story window of a building across the street. He had been sitting there ever since the sun fell behind the horizon, waiting for darkness to blanket the city to hide his presence. He had been trained in the military to take advantage of his surroundings, and even in an urban area he could blend in with the shadows enough to appear invisible.

The two shades behind the window gently rocked to one side and then the next, the first between the window pane and the second. Frank had listening equipment down in his van, which was parked in the alley below for a quick escape, but he didn't need it to know what they were talking so animatedly about. The first silhouette was his contact, a snitch by the name of Lanky Bill. So named for his severe height and lack of proportional weight, Lanky Bill's blackened image stood out by comparison to Frank's mark.

Lanky Bill was also known for his mouth, and his inability to keep it shut. Right now Frank just wished that the snitch would stop talking for one second and step aside, giving Frank a clear line of sight to his target. The man he was after tonight was known as Felix Cahill, a man who made his living by trafficking young boys and girls to his clientele. Frank had worked his way down through those clients until he learned where Cahill brokered his deals, and then sent Lanky Bill in to set up the sleaze. So far things were fine, except that Bill couldn't seem to keep his lips from flapping.

The night was young and Frank Castle, known to the underworld as the Punisher, had more targets to find before he could retire for the evening. Aside from the blazing white skull across his chest, the Punisher was dressed entirely in black: black trenchcoat, black gloves, black boots, and black fatigue pants. He rarely accented his attire with anything that wasn't considered custom ordinance. His coat was lined with magazines for the 9mm handguns in a pair of shoulder holsters, around his hip was slung a Magnum that Dirty Harry would be proud of, and his left boot had a six inch bowie knife strapped to it. Resting beside him was a black gym bag that he had carried the broken down sniper rifle in, along with a few magazines for the rifle and a couple of shaped charges just in case things got out of control.

He could see Lanky Bill's arms flapping about as they conversed. "Dammit," the Punisher whispered. "Just shut the hell up so I can take the shot and get the hell out of here."

Something that mimicked a sonic boom caught Frank's attention, coming from the East. He ripped his eye away from the scope, looking in the general direction of the noise, but couldn't see anything that outright deserved his attention. New York City rarely quieted down after sundown, and with the plethora of costumed creeps that plagued the roofs he doubted anything short of Armageddon would matter to him. The Punisher worked on a different level than the high and mighty caped windbags that lumped him in with the same scum he fought to take down. Whatever the noise was, it didn't concern him and someone else could fix it.

Settling back down into position, the Punisher gazed back through the scope and became alarmed. The fifth story window was no longer centered in his sights. Thinking at first that he simply knocked the scope out of alignment when he turned, he carefully adjusted the settings and tried to find the silhouettes again. To his surprise the wall he was facing was now devoid of all openings and the only thing he saw were bricks covered in graffiti.

"What the holy fuck is going on?" Frank muttered.

He jumped up and raced to the edge of the roof, balancing the bulky rifle and scope in one arm against his hip. It was impossible. Either he was going mad or that wasn't the same building he had been looking at for the last forty-five minutes.

He looked down to the street below, eyeing up the front fender of his van, which was barely visible from his perch. It was still there, silently waiting for him to climb aboard and move on to the next mark.

When he had pulled into the alley, however, he had initially noticed a burned out streetlamp at the mouth that overhung like a sleepy night watchman. It was mainly there for show, and the neighborhood he was in didn't have the kind of tax rates to fix it. Now the lamp was gone, just like the window.

"This better not be some damn caped pajama boy messing with me," the Punisher said as he pondered the situation.

He looked up at the sky and felt his mouth drop open. The clouds had parted, but instead of moonlight peaking through it was streaks of shadow. The streaks swept down into the city, breaking away from each other like snaking tendrils, and choosing certain areas to land in. It was like a dark blanket was sweeping over the city, moving east, and sporadically touching down here and there.

The Punisher, forgetting the missing window and streetlamp, stared in awe as he traced one of the tendrils down to the earth, where it struck the top of a building several blocks away. What happened next he wasn't sure he understood, and as idiotic as it looked, he found himself rubbing his eyes to make sure he wasn't hallucinating.

The shadow overtook the building, a landmark he recognized as an old Catholic church that he had walked passed on occasion. Darkness slithered over the bricks and mortar like a disparaging sickness, seeping into the cracks. Within a split second the building was engulfed by the dark ooze, completely cutting it off from sight. After a pair of heartbeats, the shadowy substance began to evaporate off the outer walls, leaving behind something different than what it had covered.

In place of the church was a building of similar size and shape, yet distinctly different. Gone were the crucifixes and holy symbols, now replaced by boarded up windows and graffiti. The spire at the top of the church had vanished, leaving empty space in its wake.

"Mother of God…"

More and more tendrils were dropping out of the sky, swamping buildings and entire street sections with their inky blackness. Frank watched in horror as entire city blocks were swarmed and then seemingly changed. People were beginning to spill into the streets, screaming and creating a general panic about the predicament.

The Punisher had no idea what was going on, and worse, he had no idea if it could be stopped. There was one thing that he had learned throughout the years of working within an environment that was beyond your control – when disorder led to panicking, people started to do bad things. All the scum of the city would come out of the woodwork, taking advantage of the chaos to do whatever it was their hearts desired.

A small crowd had gathered under a bus terminal at the end of the block, huddling together under the thin roof for whatever protection it might offer. The raging storm of darkness continued overhead, lashing out randomly with pillars of mysterious purpose.

Whatever this demonic catastrophe was, Frank wasn't going to worry about it. There were enough spandex-wearing fruitcakes slinging their shields to do the worrying for him. Whenever the cosmic powers-that-be felt the need to shit on the city, it was usually the regular folks who got lost in the shuffle, and the lower street thugs that were left to their vices. That was how the Punisher fit into the mix.

He snatched up his rifle and checked his munitions. Everything was in place, he just had to grab his bag and make it down to the street. He knew it wouldn't take long for the looting and pillaging to begin; the trash had a way of working its way to the surface just as soon as things got bad.

He had only taken two steps toward the stairwell door when he heard a high-pitched, whistling noise, quickly followed by a thick _chunk!_ of something hitting the brick wall. He paused, looking to his left to see the object that had been thrown his way. A piece of black metal, oddly shaped, almost like a crescent moon with points jutting out of the inner curve, had embedded itself into the brick and mortar.

"Don't move," someone from behind him said.

The voice was foreign to him, but he could feel a certain presence in it. Frank Castle continued to pause as he fingered the butt of the handgun inside his shoulder holster. The rounded object had been thrown into the brick, meaning it was incredibly sharp and would have certainly killed the Punisher if that had been the intent. But obviously the man that had thrown it had only meant it as a warning.

Being attacked without probable cause wasn't something that alarmed the one time Navy SEAL; Frank had been the mindless, random target of more thugs than he could remember. What unnerved him was the simple fact that this mystery man had managed to sneak up on him.

"Didn't plan on it," Frank replied as he thumbed back the hammer on his weapon.

"Good. Turn around, nice and slow. Leave the gun in its place or we'll have a problem."

Since Frank's back was to this mystery man there was no way he could have seen his right arm cross over his chest and reach for his gun. Whoever his assailant was, he was no dirtbag simpleton. This guy was a pro, like Frank.

Frank let the satchel with his sniper rifle in his left hand fall to the roof. He slowly raised both his hands and turned around, facing his attacker for the first time. The shrouded darkness almost molded around the mystery man, seemingly adhering to the solid black costume covering him. In the center of his chest Frank could see a shape outlined against the darker chestplate, something rounded and distinct. Frank looked out of the corner of his eye at the thing lodged into the brick wall beside him and realized what the shape was. It wasn't a moon, or a half circle.

It was a bat.

"I'm not in the mood for games," the man told Frank. His voice was gritty and scraped over the Punisher's ears. "And I don't care why you're in my city. Keep your hands behind your head. The GCPD will sort this out."

GCPD? Frank had never heard of them and wasn't entirely sure what the acronym stood for. Whoever they were, they didn't sound like the kind of guys that would understand what Frank had to say. Neither did this caped freak. So far the only thing he acknowledged him saying was that he didn't care why this bat weirdo was in his city.

"You guys should be required to register or something," Frank said as he slowly slipped his hands behind his head. "Does Moon Knight know you're biting off his routine?"

The Punisher didn't wait for a response. He slipped his hand behind his neck and snagged the butt end of the sawed-off shotgun he had strapped to his back. He yanked it out of the sheath and flipped off the safety, twirling it around toward the caped man as he dove to the side. He pulled the trigger and the shotgun barked just before he slammed onto the roof.

To his credit, the bat freak was fast. Real fast. No sooner had Frank slipped his fingers around the stock of the shotgun then the guy had reacted. The buckshot of his blast sliced into an old chimney stack, shredding the bricks and making it look more like Swiss cheese than an out of date household necessity.

Frank rolled, tucking his weapon up to his chest, and fell to one knee. He looked up and leveled his gun back at the caped stranger, but was surprised to see that he had completely vanished. There was nothing but the perforated stack of bricks. "Son of a—" Frank managed to say before he felt something stab into his wrist.

He dropped the shotgun reflexively and yelped. The skin hadn't been broken but whatever had been thrown at him made his wrist felt like it might be broken, or at least sprained. He shook his hand to try and toss away the pain, when suddenly a fist erupted from the darkness and slammed against his jaw.

The Punisher leaned away from the punch, rolling with it. The knuckles still clipped the tip of his chin and there would be a bruise formed there in the morning, but otherwise he was fine. He stood up and backpedaled, seeing now that the bat freak had somehow flanked him. Frank realized that he had been right in his original assessment and that this guy was _good_.

Before he could throw a punch of his own, the bat freak kicked his knee out, bringing Frank down hard. The hard roof slammed into his kneecap, shunting pain up through his entire side. The masked man cocked back for another punch, but Frank was ready for it this time.

The Punisher, while kneeling, ducked to one side and caught his attacker's wrist as the punch flew. He stayed with the momentum, pulling on the arm he had snagged and upset the man's balance enough for Frank to bring him close for a jab of his own. He caught the side of the freak's face with his punch, hitting more of the facemask than the face. He felt his knuckles crack, harder than when he was hitting normal skin. The facemask was made of something hard, possibly Kevlar.

The guy didn't even let out a soft _oof!_ as they tussled. He was tough. His breathing was steady. His movements were precise. He must have had training, possibly similar to the Punisher's. He flipped Frank over with some sort of judo maneuver that Frank had no way of avoiding. The Punisher flopped down on the rooftop, flat on his back.

The longer this fight went on, the worse it could get. So far the only weapon the bat freak had used was some type of throwing star, meaning he kept with his motif. Frank doubted he had any guns or heavier ordinance. The bat freak was back on his feet again and moving over top of Frank, so if he was going to make a move to finish this fight, the time was now.

He reached into his boot where he had a seven inch blade strapped, fingered the handle, and yanked it out. The caped man must have heard the knife slip out of its sheath; there was no other way he could have dodged the strike so fast. Frank hopped back to his feet and pointed the knife at his opponent, reaching into his trenchcoat with his free hand to grab one of his 9mm handguns. The freak had let his cape flutter shut, covering the entire front of his body and masking him once more in darkness.

"Stop!" an echoing voice sung out from above them.

The Punisher paused with his hand resting on the butt of his gun. He looked up, making sure to keep the freak in the corner of his eye. Frank noticed that he didn't move at the sound of the voice, not one twitch. It was a little startling to think of how collected he seemed to be given the circumstances.

When Frank looked up he almost wished he hadn't. "Son of a—"

"Frank Castle," Doctor Strange said as he descended to the roof. His red cloak billowed out behind him, kicked up by a small wind that rustled over the roof. "I have need of your service."

Another flying man gently touched down to the roof between Frank and the bat freak. He wore a helmet that looked to be made of solid gold, with a matching cape and gloves. He moved to whisper something to the freak, who still stood stoically.

"Whenever weird shit turns up, so do you," the Punisher said as he pulled his hand out of his coat, sans handgun. He nodded to the pair of capes quietly talking a few yards away. "I take it these yahoos are with you?"

"They are," Strange replied, "as are you now. The city is in grave danger and we must—"

"End of the world garbage, right? Forget it, not interested."

Strange began to float back up into the air, waving his hands in an arcane manner as he did so. "It was not an invitation, Frank," was all he said as streaks of energy hung in front of him, forming a circle in midair.

"Dammit…" Frank muttered as the transportation spell overtook him and the others on the roof.

In a bright flash of yellow light, the four of them were gone, leaving nothing but a satchel full of munitions and shaped charges behind. The frantic storm of darkness continued to overtake the city, building by building, slowly making its way through the streets. The chaos would soon overwhelm any who neared it, even though the black spirals that somehow changed the environment only hit roughly half of the targets.

People continued to clog the streets as cars crashed into each other, contributing to the increasing anarchy throughout the city. Their cries fell on deaf ears as a single entity hovered over the bedlam, chuckling to himself at the sight of the distraught populace.

"Soon," he said to himself. "Soon the merge will be complete, and with its condensing my power will be great enough to rid me of these shackles."

His subtle laughter grew steadily until it could be heard by a number of the rampaging citizens below. Despite its eeriness, it was nothing compared to the destruction and mayhem happening all around them.

* * *

TO BE CONTINUED…


	2. Chapter 2

**CITY OF CHAOS #2**

Written by D. Golightly

* * *

The soft grunts of a man working himself to his limit quietly sounded over the New York City skyline. Night had fallen barely moments ago, but already one of its vigilante protectors was on the prowl. Typically, this man dressed in crimson would otherwise be finishing up paperwork at his law practice, but tonight was one of those rare evenings when Matt Murdock could get done early.

Leaving the somewhat hopeless cases of his clients behind, Matt leapt off of his building's rooftop and into the night sky fearlessly. His skills earned through dedication and practice at the hands of a master ninja enabled him to run the gauntlet of fire escapes, high wires, and flagpoles with ease. However, in comparison to his fellow vigilante hunters, Matt Murdock had one disadvantage: he was blind.

That blindness, forced upon him the same day he was doused in a bath of toxic chemicals, had been both a blessing and a curse. He would never again see the sun rise, or admire the color of a woman's hair. Gone were the days of watching his favorite pro team win the championship game on a miracle play.

But in place of that missing sense had been left a gift he cherished. He had dubbed it his "radar sense," a unique form of echolocation that enabled him to see the world in a new way that some would argue was superior to the human eye. By absorbing sound waves in much the same way a bat or dolphin would, Matt was now presented with a three-hundred and sixty degree schematic of the world directly into his mind's eye.

He landed on his feet effortlessly, barely acknowledging the force of the fall. The jump across the alleyway was one he had done many times before, and even without his radar sense to guide him he could have done the leap blindfolded. His suit and tie had been left back in the office where they belonged; the night was where Daredevil roamed.

His simple blood red costume with a pair of stylized D's on his chest left the criminal element scarred silly when he was nearby. The opaque lenses in his mask subtly reflected whatever light was available, making it appear as if his eyes glowed red. A small pair of horns protruded from his forehead, prosthetics, but nonetheless effective when shaking down a general thug.

Daredevil continued to run across the next roof without worry, nimbly avoiding the obstacle course made of TV receivers, smokestacks, and power lines. This part of the city was like his home away from home; there were no surprises in the architecture. His radar sense allowed him to outline entire buildings with great detail, making it easy for him to duck under one thing and then vault over another.

When he reached the end of the roof, however, he paused. Something was wrong. Something was different and out of place. The air had been charged with something; he could feel that much on his skin. There was a subtle sense of pressure all around him, so subtle that he doubted someone without an enhanced sense of touch could feel it.

A thunderclap sounded overhead, but he knew it couldn't be attributed to a rain cloud. His enhanced sense of touch told him that the amount of moisture in the air wasn't quite right. The thunder swept over the general area, and while most people wouldn't give it a second thought, this sound would tell Daredevil more than a pair of eyes ever could.

As the wave of noise washed over the buildings, streets, and alleys, Daredevil focused on the information being forced into his head. With each wall that the thunderclap echoed off of, another segment of the city was mapped out to him. It was as if an artist stenciled out the area and then wiped it away a fraction of a second later, but it only that fraction that he needed to confirm his suspicions.

The city had been changed.

Pieces of the landscape had been simply removed and then replaced by similar components. Like a jigsaw puzzle, the pieces all fit, but were slightly askew once interchanged. Buildings were wedged where vacant lots should have sat. Street corners bore to the left instead of the right. Seamless views were now obscured.

It had something to do with the resounding pressure he felt all around him, he was sure of it. He had told Foggy that he needed to cut out early tonight and get some fresh air, but the real trigger for his donning the crimson suit was still echoing throughout the streets.

People were screaming. Hundreds, perhaps thousands all around the city. He stepped to the roof's edge and cocked his head to the side, letting the sounds enter him more sharply. He had heard them even from within his office and knew that he had to get involved. Whatever was doing this, he needed to figure it out before more innocents were harmed. The streets were filled with scared people, not all of them friendly. New York was known for inhabiting lowlifes and vagrants, desperate people that would take advantage of a situation like this.

One of the tricks he had adapted to using frequently, almost unconsciously, was hearing heartbeats. He could instantly tell if a person was lying just by listening to their heart skipping a beat. It was useful in the courtroom, but it also made it very difficult for someone to sneak up on him.

Daredevil whirled around, clutching his club in one hand. He had detected four heartbeats, only two of which he recognized. The first heartbeat made sense, given the oddness of the current peril and the abrupt manifestation of the four people on the roof with him.

"Doctor Strange," Daredevil remarked as he let his stance go slack. "Figures you would be involved. I take it you know what's happening to the city?"

The cloaked Sorcerer Supreme nodded. "Good evening, Daredevil." Matt noted that the Doctor hadn't used his real name, when typically he would have. That meant the other in their presence might not be trustworthy enough with that information. "Time is short," Strange continued. "You're invited to come with us to my Sanctum. I will have need of your skills."

"Who are they?"

The man possessing the other heartbeat he had recognized grunted. "That blindness must finally be catching up with you. You and I have danced around enough to know each other by now," the Punisher commented.

"Not you, Castle. You're lucky I have bigger concerns tonight, otherwise I'd be trying to bring you in." Daredevil pointed the end of his club toward the other two standing just a bit behind Strange. "Them."

"Allies," Strange replied. "Doctor Fate and the Batman can be trusted. I vouch for their sincerity and assure you that their interests match our own."

"So then what's happening? The whole city is under fire…"

"In short, a merging of cosmic proportions. If we waste much more time then we'll be unable to stop it. Please, come with me."

Daredevil remained apprehensive, but knew better than to second guess Doctor Strange. His time spent on Strange's team of misshapen Defenders had taught him that. He finally nodded and relaxed again, returning his red club to his thigh.

Doctor Strange made a series of motions in the air, and in a whisk of energy, the five heroes were gone, stolen away by Strange's magic. The roaring black plague of shadowy evil continued to rein down on the city, all the while guided by unseen hands.

* * *

"Ten bucks says this ain't Gotham," a broad-shouldered man wearing a green tunic muttered. The moonlight would have reflected brilliantly off of his costume if not for the twisting and discolored skyline overhead. "Not by a long shot."

He stood atop what he thought was the Gotham Savings and Loan, waiting for the city's main protector. They had a meeting scheduled for tonight to discuss certain things, and despite his protests, the Batman had refused neutral ground. As it was, he hated being in Gotham. He could never shake the unwelcome feeling that Batman gave him. He would have much rather met in Star City or even on the League's satellite.

Of course, he had done more than just wait idly. The Bat was typically on time, but given the obvious crisis he assumed things would be slightly behind schedule this evening. Instead of watching helplessly, the green bowman had picked off a number of looting criminals from his perch. One of them, caught by a bolo-arrow, was wrapped around the base of a lamppost just across the street. With the wind building as it was, it was a tricky shot to make, at least, for most people it was.

"I hate Gotham," he said as he watched the city throw itself into dismay.

Although, as he already surmised, he wasn't in Gotham. Not anymore. The brewing storm had somehow seen to that, trading out landmarks he recognized with ones he had never seen before. He rubbed his chin, which was hidden beneath a blonde goatee, contemplating the situation.

"Green Arrow," he heard someone say from behind him. He turned to see the voice's owner, which he recognized as belonging to the person he had come to meet. Batman slipped out of the shadows across the roof and took a few steps toward him, still hidden behind his cloak and cowl.

"Batman," Green Arrow replied with a nod. He relaxed his right arm, but maintained the tenseness in his left, the one holding his bow. "You're late. And you're not alone, I see."

Several others melted out of the darkness behind Batman, but the Dark Knight paid them no mind. Green Arrow recognized the golden helmet of Doctor Fate among them, but otherwise he didn't know who else was in the party –a man wrapped in a red cloak with a golden amulet around his neck, a man in a trenchcoat with what looked to be a white skull emblazoned on his chest, and still a third that looked like a demon made man.

The Batman closed the distance between himself and Green Arrow slowly, deliberately. When they were only a few feet apart he stopped, and spoke. "These people aren't from this world."

"No kidding."

"But they are here to help us. Whatever is affecting my city is spreading. We're going to cut it off, but before we can do that we need to gather whoever we can to help. You're coming with us."

Green Arrow leaned to the side slightly in order to see around the Dark Knight. "So they're heroes then?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes."

"You expect me to believe that a guy carrying enough guns to send the army on the run, and another guy dressed like a Satan worshipper...are _good guys_?"

Batman paused briefly before answering, but when he spoke, there wasn't a hint of hesitation in his voice. "Fate vouched for them and I trust him."

Green Arrow sighed, but acknowledged the fact that the Batman's trust did not come easily. "This League business?" he asked.

"More like Outsiders. We don't have the time to wait for the League to rally anyway."

The bowman nodded again and slung his weapon of choice over his shoulder to rest against his quiver. He followed Batman back to the group, making sure to keep an eye on the new recruits. He could trust Batman's judgment only so far; they had several disagreements over the years regardless of the fact that their interests usually overlapped. Still, with the general mayhem enveloping the city at the moment, Green Arrow reasoned that fresh blood on the scene might not be the worst thing.

The man in the red cloak waved his hands in an intricate pattern, leaving behind a pattern in the air that was seemingly burned into place. There was a flash of light, and bit of disorientation, and then they were gone.

* * *

"_They cannot succeed_."

"_They will not...leave that task to me, lest you forget that until the crossing is complete, we are primarily in __my__ dimension_."

An intangible, veiled ghost watched the green archer depart with the other gathered heroes. They were unaware of his presence, which was exactly how he deemed it. He had watched Strange's futile effort to first discern the nature of the dimensional distortion, only to be summoned by Fate through his own portal. He sneered as he watched his hated enemies depart, content in the fact that soon, so very soon, they would be lying dead at his feet.

The disembodied entity floated through the city then, smiling at the turmoil he had caused. The denizens of both New York and Gotham, each so sure that the place they were now in was their own home, ran amok in the streets like wild animals. The safety of what they knew had been decimated, struck down by the simple ritual he had committed.

"_Do not take me for a fool_."

The man tilted his head to one side as he spoke, saying, "_I would never endanger our unique…relationship. Not at this juncture. Not when we are so close_."

His head tilted to the opposite side when the reply came, oddly, from his own mouth. "_Even if you control this body we now share, I still have enough influence over your soul to do you harm. Betray me and face the consequences_."

"_To betray you would be to betray my master. Dormammu is a god the likes of which you have never seen and I dare not jeopardize myself by going against you. Have faith, wizard. Our task will soon be complete_."

"_Your Dormammu cannot compare to my own Lord…but this is not the time for petty squabbles. Those repugnant heroes could be a thorn in our plans. Since, as you say, this is primarily your dimension, what do you suggest we do? The ritual must not be disturbed by the likes of them!_"

"_They gather forces to oppose us. Therefore, we shall gather forces to oppose _them."

The man felt an inwardly sense of satisfaction, which no doubt came from the other entity he was now bound with. He saw another dark cloud of blackness swing down into the city and pick another structure, replacing it with a different one, and felt a sense of connection with the act. His own soul, after all, had undergone the same process. The only difference between what had happened to him and what happened around him, was that he had called the change to himself willingly.

With the merge of his soul with a kindred one, his power has doubled easily. Perhaps even tripled now that avenues of magic previously unknown to him were as open as they could be. As proof of that the two Doctors has been oblivious to his presence, an act that never could have transpired before he had merged.

"_Where do we start, Baron Mordo?_" his doppelganger inquired.

"_We begin the same way they did, Mordru. We collect allies. Then…we attack._"

* * *

A shimmering portal enveloped a room deep in the Sanctum Sanctorum, briefly illuminating the entire space for a split second, and then it vanished, leaving behindmore than a halfdozen costumed men and women. Their number had grown toeight before Strange had deemed it necessary to return to his lair. The room he had brought them to, deep within the bowels of his home, was large and round with a pillar nearly waist-high in the exact center. The stone walls were devoid of any artistry save for a few randomly hung tapestries, all of which were made of dark tones.

None of them said it aloud, but they all felt the power of Strange's abode. The Sanctum, to those who had heard of it, was a sacred place built atop a sort of cosmic junction that commanded nearly as much respect as the good Doctor himself. The outward appearance of the mansion was misleading, as the twists and turns of the hallways were subject to change, not always at the owner's desire. There were secrets within the home that even Stephan Strange was not privy to yet.

"Welcome to my Sanctum," the Sorcerer Supreme said to his guests. He lowered his arms as the transportation spell finished, letting his red cloak of levitation surround him completely. "Normally I would ask you to make yourselves at home, but we have other matters to attend to first."

A woman dressed in black leathers tightened her grasp on a whip that was frayed at the end and snorted. She was one of the newest so-called recruits to the Doctors' mission, and if it hadn't been for the one called Batman in their number, she never would have agreed to join them. "I was quite comfortable at home," the woman purred. "I don't see why you needed to drag me into this mess." She eyed the Batman up and down slowly. "Not that I'm entirely complaining, of course."

"Catwoman," the Dark Knight said in a steady tone. "This isn't play time. Stay focused."

"Batman is correct," Doctor Fate added. His golden helmet reflected what little light was in the room, adding a sheen to his already commanding presence. "Your souls were what stood out against the backdrop that has shrouded our cities. It was the will of Nabu to bring you all here, where we hope to raise a veil to stifle the contamination of black magic. For that to succeed, you _must_ remained focused."

"So no funny stuff," a wiry man in red and black said as he shook his finger at the crowd like they were preschoolers. Upon being brought to the Sanctum he had immediately bounced up onto the wall, amazingly clinging to it with nothing but his own feet. The majority of the group regarded him for a moment, although Strange and Daredevil, who had encountered the man enough to know better than to pay attention to his wisecracks, simply walked toward the pillar. "Guess I should take my own advice," Spider-Man added.

"Too bad Jameson took down that reward," the Punisher commented as he stalked by the webbed wallcrawler. "I don't typically do merc work, but for you I'd make an exception."

"Castle, you smooth talker," Spider-Man replied as he hopped to the floor and followed the others to the center of the room. "How's tricks? Working the street still?"

Frank Castle grimaced at the vigilante but kept any further comments to himself. They both approached the pillar and fell into the circle the other heroes had created at the motions of Doctor Strange. The archer called Green Arrow, who looked much like a modern day Robin Hood, watched Castle out of the corner of his eye as they approached.

"You sure we shouldn't be out there mixing it up with the whack-jobs on the streets?" Green Arrow asked. He looked at Batman as he spoke, choosing to address him directly. "All this hocus pocus isn't really my thing."

"If Strange says this is the route to take," Daredevil said before Batman could respond, "this is what we do. I trust him with my life."

"I don't," Catwoman murmured to herself.

"Doctor," Strange said with a nod to Fate, "please conjure the crystal you spoke of while I see to arranging protection. Our opponents will surely seek to dismiss our attempts to thwart them."

Fate nodded in return. Strange closed his eyes in concentration as he sent out a psychic message to others within the household, instructing them on what he needed them to do while they worked. While Strange concentrated, Fate moved his hands in a small circle and muttered something in a language that none of the other heroes recognized. They watched silently and waited for their part to become clearer, each of them intently focused on the pair of sorcerers standing in the middle of their circle, beside the pillar.

No sooner had the disturbance been felt in Fate's own home dimension than he and Strange knew that they were not enemies. Fate succeeded in bringing them both back through the portal that Mordru had used to access Strange's dimension for whatever reason, returning the Sorcerer Supreme to his body. Once the effects of the event began to transpire, with the seeming merging of cosmic boundaries, they formulated a plan to stop it.

A symbol of arcane energy formed inside the invisible circle that Fate was weaving with his hands, which swiftly turned into a vortex that condensed into a solid object. Once the spell had been completed, residing in Fate's open palm was a clear crystal that hummed with a quiet power.

"This," Fate said, "is the Ja'ti Prism. Its power has been tested against even the harshest of magicks, and tonight we will use its defenses to halt the outstretching darkness from molding this world with another."

"It's a talisman?" Daredevil inquired. Even though his vision was gone, he could still ascertain a rough outline of the Prism in Fate's hand by way of his radar sense.

"The Ja'ti Prism works more like the magical equivalent of a dynamo," Fate replied. He gently placed the item on top of the pillar as he continued his explanation. "We will lead you all through the workings of the spell, guiding your thoughts and pouring them into the Prism. Whatever is plaguing our cities is steadily growing in power, somehow feeding off of the panic and fear created by the event. The Prism will allow us to create a wall to virtually contain its tendrils, hopefully thwarting further growth."

"Putting the kibosh on the evil mojo," Spider-Man said with a thumbs-up. "Got it. What do we do?"

Doctor Strange opened his eyes, his psychic contact finally over with. "Given the turbulence this event is generating on the astral plane, it would be unwise for only one person to cast the spell. Thus, we sought you all out. Any backlash that might be caused from locking down the black magic will be distributed amongst all of us."

"Hypothetically allowing the possible consequences of casting the spell to be considerably diminished," Batman responded. "Each of us would only get a slap on the wrist instead of a single person being killed."

"Precisely," Doctor Strange said with a nod to the Dark Knight. "My friends in the upper floors of the Sanctum will stand ready to defend us should someone seek to intervene. Doctor Fate...are we ready to begin?"

In reply, Fate extended one hand over the Prism and a sharp, golden lance of energy fell out of his palm and into the item. It quickly absorbed the power and began to glow in a similar fashion, bathing all of the heroes in a soft, golden light. "We are," Fate said as he stepped back into position, closing the circle once more.

"For this to succeed," Strange said with a touch of cold apathy to his voice, "we _must_ all remain focused on the task at hand. Do not break another's concentration or the mystical feedback could render them comatose."

Catwoman swung the tip of her whip casually in a loop and raised an eyebrow beneath her leather mask. "Should we start chanting 'Kumbaya' or something?" she asked mockingly.

"Oh, I like her," Spider-Man said. "Hey, DD...think we can keep her after this?"

"Shut up," the Punisher said as he let his trenchcoat slip to the floor.

"Dinah's gonna kill me when she hears about this," Green Arrow muttered beneath his breath. "She told me _not _to trust Bruce...told me _not_ to go to Gotham..."

Doctor Strange parted his red cloak with his hands once more and recalled the spell he would need carefully. Each of the men and women in the circle suddenly felt a presence press into their minds as Strange spoke an incantation, which he said nearly at the top of his lungs. It sounded like Latin, but with a few syntax changes that imbued the words with power. With an effort of will on Strange's part, the spell was locked into place and all of the heroes were now connected by invisible strings of force.

Their souls were now intertwined thanks to the spell, and each could feel the other standing near them without having to look. Their heartbeats began to thump in rhythm with each other, which was immediately noticed by the man without fear, Daredevil. It was an odd sensation, and once the spell took full effect, there was a surge of power that blanketed the entire room.

Each of the men and women felt the breath being sucked out of their lungs as the power quickly condensed and them rushed out of them like a vacuum. Energy spiraled out of their bodies, fueled by their own souls, and spun itself into the Prism waiting quietly on the pillar between them all.

The process, which seemed to happen so quickly, actually took nearly a quarter of an hour. Time seemingly stopped by their perceptions, clouded by the effort of concentration and the mystical ramifications of Strange's spell coupled with the drawing power of Fate's talisman.

The energy built up inside the Ja'ti Prism, swirling inside its thin edges like a torrential storm ready to be unleashed upon the world. A soft, pink film extended out from the Prism, coating it in pure magic. A brief moment later, the film hardened and rocketed out in all directions, swiftly moving through and passed the encircled heroes.

"Holy—" Spider-Man began to say.

"Focus!" Fate called out. "Keep your thoughts in line with each others!"

The nearly inaudible thrumming beat of the Prism had grown in decibels to a nearly blaring noise that rattled the teeth of those present. The wall of pink magic pushed by them and through the walls of the chamber, reaching out through the entire Sanctum and into the night air of the chaotic city. It moved gracefully throughout the landscape, brushing over the inhabitants and the structures like they didn't even exist. Soon a pink bubble had formed over the entire city, solidifying in place once it reached just passed the outer fringes.

The pressure against their minds vanished and the heroes all let out a collective breath. "That…was weird," Green Arrow said after taking in a few deep breathes.

Catwoman wobbled unsteadily on her feet, but quickly regained her composure. She studied each of the heroes around her before looking for an exit, thinking that her role in the matter was now done. Regardless of whatever benefits she might reap from their company, she was much too insecure being surrounded by the vigilantes. She wasn't one of them, not really, no matter what the Bat said.

"What exactly did we just do?" the Punisher said as he stretched his arms over his head and cracked his knuckles. "Felt like a train bowled over us when that bubble popped out of the Prism."

"The Ja'ti Prism projected a barrier out through the city, closing it off to stop the spread of black magic," Doctor Fate explained. "The merging of our realms will stop for now, but it is not a permanent solution. We must find Mordru and whoever he is working with before it is too late."

The Batman stood completely still, apparently unaffected by the trial they had all just undergone. "Is only magic cut off by the barrier?" he inquired.

"No," Strange replied. "For all intents and purposes, the city has been shut off from physical interaction as well."

"So we're the only good guys in long-johns that are available to save the day?" Spider-Man asked rhetorically. "Piece of cake. Webslinging _always_ beats out spellslinging. God, I am sooo not ready for this…"

Before anyone else could add to the conversation, Daredevil grew tense and stepped to the center of their circle. He cocked his head to one side, as if listening intently to something that no one else could hear. His hands, which had hung gently at his side, were slowly bunching up into fists as he noticeably grew uncomfortable by something.

"Someone's coming," the man without fear said. "Doctor Strange…who was it you said was upstairs guarding us?"

"My apprentice, my assistant, and my wife," the Sorcerer Supreme answered. His brow wrinkled in question to Daredevil's inquiry, and then he closed his eyes to reach out with his own senses.

"There's a lot more than three people headed for us," Daredevil said. "I can hear their feet in the hallway. Something's wrong."

Strange's eyes suddenly blared open as he screamed, "Everyone get back!"

But before any of them could move to take cover, the large wooden doors leading out of the chamber were shattered from the outside, sending shards of wood into the room. The fist that had broken the doors open with a single punch pulled back from the threshold, covered in slick, gray, scaled skin. Its owner's appearance matched it, along with a broad smile that flashed several rows of sharp teeth that looked like that belonged to a shark and not a man.

In his other arm he carried a large, green, fur covered biped with horns protruding from its forehead. The creature hefted the thing off of its shoulder and tossed it into the room for the heroes to see. It tumbled over until it finally came to a stop on its back, where Doctor Strange saw the unconscious face of his apprentice, Rintrah, who had been charged with their protection.

"That one didn't put up much of a fight once his tricks were shut down by my new buddy," the gray creature in the doorway said. "And that lady and that Asian guy, too. They sure did scream though…"

"Who dares violate my Sanctum?" Strange demanded as his own fists balled up. "Who?"

"His name," the Batman offered, "is Killer Croc. And I don't think he's alone."

Five others of varying horrific design approached from behind Killer Croc, each studying the collected heroes over as if ready to pounce like wild animals. One wore a green cloak and had a face reminiscent of a certain bird of prey, from which he had taken his namesake, the Owl. Another wore a mask with straw brimming from behind it, and jagged teeth within his covered mouth, looking like the scarecrow that he portrayed. Still another wore a purple and yellow costume and had a thin mustache over his upper lip, and playfully bounced back and forth on his feet like a spring ready to launch. Batroc the Leaper had the look of death in his eyes.

"Odds are in our favor," another of their number said as he stepped into the light. One half of his face looked just like any other white male's, but the other half was hideously disfigured and twisted into a grotesque mask that would give a child nightmares. He flipped a coin casually in one hand; the trademark of the gangster called Two-Face.

"Mmm…it feels so _good_ to be out of Ravencroft!" a sultry female voice said as she walked up to Two-Face and leaned on his shoulder. "Is that the spider I see over there? Oh, this day just keeps getting better!"

"Shriek," Spider-Man whispered to himself. "Crap. This just can't get any worse, can it?"

In silent response to his question, the last man behind the villains floated to the front of their pack. He dragged a pair of bodies through the air by way of a levitation spell he had bound to them. Once he came before the heroes he guided the two unconscious bodies to the knocked-out Rintrah and let them collapse on top of each other. One was a short Asian man that was completely bald; the other was a woman with silver hair.

"Wong," Strange muttered. "My beloved Clea…who are you? I demand to know the name of the man I am about to kill!"

"My identity is known to both you wizards," the leader of the villain's pack replied. "But it has also been changed. I applaud you on your success in stopping the crossing, but it was all for naught. As soon as I spill every last drop of blood out of your bodies I plan to destroy that crystal bauble that keeps the spell in place, and then I will rule this cursed land and turn it into my own version of Hell on Earth."

"I sense Chaos Magic in you," Fate said. "But you are not Mordru."

"Nabu's lapdog speaks! No, I am no longer just Mordru. My power has doubled thanks to the crossing, and I daresay you don't stand a chance against me now. Nor do you Strange."

"The Baron," Strange said. "I sense the dark power in you that the Baron adores so much. Baron Mordo…"

"Finally you begin to understand! This body, this _amalgamation_, has been infused with the power of both Mordru _and_ Mordo. Power enough to bring our masters together. Power enough to kill you all!"

With a wave of his hand, the dark sorcerer created several pockets in space that sucked the heroes up into a void. Neither of the doctors could devise a counter spell quickly enough, as they both felt a numbing sensation spread throughout their arms. Mordru, or Mordo, whichever was in primary control of the shared body, somehow locked down their magicks with ease. Each set of villains behind him chose smiled and then leaped in after the heroes, broken up into pairs. Both Strange and Fate watched in horror as the heroes they had gathered were divided, split up and lost to wherever the madman had sent them.

"Their deaths will be quick, but you…_both _of you, will know what it is to feel true pain!"

Dark energy swirled in the evil sorcerer's hands as he charged the two awaiting heroes, cackling like a mad fool the entire time. They fought to raise a defense, but still found their arms numb and unable to move. Horribly, terrifyingly, the two began to realize that they might be outmatched…

* * *

TO BE CONTINUED…


	3. Chapter 3

**CITY OF CHAOS #3**

Written by D. Golightly

* * *

"Feel the _fear_. Feel the angst rise up and squash all your _hopes_!"

A wave of first euphoria, then numbing nervousness, washed over the red-garbed street vigilante known to his enemies as Daredevil. For someone whose vision had been ripped from him years ago, he seldom knew what it was to feel the fear of normal men. In truth, he was dubbed the Man Without Fear, as it was commonplace for him to charge into danger without cause or care. Still, he was calculated, as a trained and disciplined man must be. That intense control over his body and character was probably all that staved off the nearly overwhelming, chemical induced fear that gripped him.

For the first time in years, Daredevil was scared of his enemy.

The Scarecrow, a psychotic criminal of the worst kind, cackled in delight as he watched the emotions of his prey tangle. To him it was like a visual feeding frenzy. The doctors at Arkham Asylum had long ago given up on his recuperation; after all, he was one of them, trained in the same methods of analysis. There was no way for them to break through his psyche that he wouldn't anticipate.

The straw poking out of his grotesque crumpled mask would have added to Daredevil's misery, had the hero been about to see. His eyes, if they worked as they were supposed to, would contort the face of the Scarecrow until it nearly drove him mad.

As it was, the aerosol that the Scarecrow had sprayed Daredevil with in all of the tumbling confusion had taken an entirely different effect on the Man Without Fear. Daredevil's senses had shifted upon his loss of sight. His sense of touch, for instance, could now feel the raised ink on a newspaper. Now that the Scarecrow's fear toxins had infested his system, the path to their usual target, the eyes, had been diverted to the other working senses. Now, Daredevil was in all altogether different kind of personal Hell than the Scarecrow's other victims.

"What does it _feel_ like?" the Scarecrow said as he drove his knee into Daredevil's face where he crouched in agony. "You _must_ tell me. Consider this an…experiment."

The Scarecrow landed a punch on the upset Daredevil, made an easy target by his incapacitation. Normally Daredevil would have fought back, but as it was the very intense and very real crawling scarabs all over his body had shocked him into submission.

While Daredevil's mental battleground proved difficult to find a victory in, their physical one was proving almost as difficult to secure a win. Only moments after being divided amongst the portals, the villains had trounced their respective heroes. The element of surprise, coupled with their unease from having performed a ritual guided by the Doctors, had given the villains a leg up on their opponents. Daredevil had been brought to his knees by the Scarecrow in the courtyard of Doctor Strange's estate, where the portal had spit them out, while the archer Green Arrow was across the grassy lawn with a problem all his own.

"Stand still, you blasted Frenchie!" said Oliver Queen, the masked Green Arrow. Drawing another arrow from his quiver, he quickly latched it onto his bowstring and let it fly, only to miss yet again as his quarry danced in avoidance.

"You Americans…" the bouncing Batroc, his prancing opponent, muttered while dodging. "You think all you have to do is point and shoot, point and shoot. Where is the skill? The _style_?"

The scruffy Green Arrow declined another comment or verbal retort, instead choosing to let his offense do the talking. His normal opposition was comprised of colorful characters like the one he faced now, but his practical kidnapping into this mess was having an effect on him. He had stood side by side with the world's greatest heroes, only now he was in a world not his own.

He had been recruited in Gotham City and taken to a house unlike any he had ever seen before. There he and a hodge-podge of heroes attempted to halt the progression of merging dimensions, which he admitted was a little over his head.

Batroc slapped his right foot across Green Arrow's chin, forcing his teeth to clatter together. "You would do better to keep focused on the fight at hand, Robin Hood," Batroc said as he ducked underneath Green Arrow's hastily thrown punch. "You might say your life depends on it."

Right now, Green Arrow was having trouble thinking of anything other than how fast this Batroc character was. He was on a first name basis with the Fastest Man Alive, but this French guy moved so fluidly for being a normal human. He was uncomfortable the speed in which the fight had changed for a ranged one to a more personal encounter.

A slight breeze washed over the four of them, reminding of how there was no roof over their heads. In the courtyard of the Sanctum Sanctorum, Doctor Strange's unusual home, if they were to cease their fighting and look up they would see the inky blackness of a chaotic universe attempting to merge with a world of order. Beyond that a thin pink shield had been erected to halt the progression of the merger, although its strength was now put into question.

Daredevil screamed as the Scarecrow laughed, and Green Arrow grunted with the success of smacking the tip of his bow into Batroc's face. A small triumph, but he would take it. With all that was happening, he simply hoped that wherever the others were, they would holding their own.

* * *

"You remind me of someone," Spider-Man said, "but for some reason I just can't place it."

"Play your cards right," Catwoman replied, "and maybe when this is done we'll have a chance to talk it over."

Gunfire erupted in front of them, blanketing the stone column they hid behind with ricocheting bullets. The distinctly feminine Catwoman, covered from head to toe in black leather, kneeled at the base of the pillar with her back firmly pressed against it. She held a whip taut between her fingers, ready to pounce when the opportunity came. Tumbling through the portal hadn't been very comfortable for her, but true to form once she had come out the other side she had landed on her feet.

Spider-Man was also pressed against the pillar, but instead of letting gravity secure him to the floor, he was a foot above Catwoman, sticking to the smooth and rounded surface by the soles of his feet. "I know!" he said. "Eartha Kitt! You're a dead ringer for Eartha Kitt!"

"Who?"

But before Spider-Man could search his mind for a smart comment, a deafening wall of sound slammed into the other side of the pillar and dislodged the top of it, forcing Spider-Man and Catwoman to vacate their hiding spot.

Spider-Man dropped down beside Catwoman, grabbed her around the waste, and fired a webline to the high ceiling. Yanking down on the tight line, while simultaneously bounding up from the floor with his increased strength, he and Catwoman found themselves launched at an angle nearly twenty feet off the floor. The column crashed in a heap below them as they sailed through the expansive foyer of the Sanctum Santorum.

The trailing gunfire nearly clipped them, but somehow sensing this, Spider-Man released the webline and the pair dropped to a balcony overhanging into the foyer above a set of wide and carpeted stairs. They ducked under the stone ledge of the balcony just in time to avoid being shot.

"Nice moves," Catwoman purred. "But that won't put Two-Face off for long. Trust me."

"Two-Face? Seriously? That's crazy corny."

"How could you miss them?" another woman from the floor below scolded. Her voice carried well throughout the huge entrance to the good Doctor's home, even though her powers ensured her that she needn't ever worry about being heard. "I knew that you were just as useless as all the other men. I never should have let that magician freak talk me into this."

"Listen, you whacked out broad." The replying voice was darker, heavier. It sounded like he had chewed gravel and them washed it down with asphalt. Two-Face's scarring had apparently been more than just skin deep. "The only reason I haven't turned this Tommy gun on you is because the coin gave you a free pass. Now shut your mouth before I decide to flip again."

"I see that Shriek is getting along swimmingly with your Mister Hyde wannabe," Spider-Man said. "Honestly, I'm surprised that she hasn't used her sonic powers to make the other side of his face look that messed up. Yuck. Talk about a walking nightmare."

"Two-Face is dangerous," Catwoman replied. "Trust me. I know from experience. Any idea where we are?"

Spider-Man cocked his head to look around. "Looks like we never left the mansion. I'd wager that the others are dispersed around the place, too."

"Along with their crooked looking-glass counterparts."

"Who you calling a—hold on a sec."

Spider-Man slid around the side of the banister and stood up just enough to reach his arm over the top of the rail. With practiced precision, he pressed down on the palm button that triggered his webshooter, a device hidden beneath his red and black glove. He fired a gob of webbing, which flew straight through the air until it smacked into Shriek's lips. The shock of being struck in the face, coupled with the momentum that a ball of webbing is sure to gain, snapped Shriek's head back and knocked her to the floor. She grasped at her mouth, clawing at the webbing that had covered her mouth completely, although her nose was still exposed to allow her to breath.

Before he could change positions or snap off another webline, Two-Face took full advantage of the now open Spider-Man, and unleashed a hail of bullets that erupted from the fresh clip he had slapped into place. Spidey ducked back behind the banister beside Catwoman, barely saving himself. The feline female stared at him with a perturbed look on her face.

"What?" he said with a shrug of his shoulders.

"You mean you're good enough to shut her up whenever you want? And you waited _this_ long?"

"Well, to be honest, that whole Eartha Kitt line took up most of my concentration."

Catwoman changed her look from irritated to smug. "Spider, you're my kind of night-crawler. I hope the others are this lucky."

"Given what I made of the dude in the bad Moon Knight getup, I doubt they're all having this much fun."

* * *

Frank Castle felt a disc slip out of place in his back. The pain was unbearable, but it was nothing compared to the scarring he had endured years ago. Physical pain was, to the Punisher, a state of mind. It was something he had been taught early on in his Special Forces training. Disassociate the pain from the physical affects, and it's nothing more than an irritation.

However, Frank was finding it difficult to ignore the wall his spine was being bashed against.

"I'll make a nice stew out of your bones after you're dead," a putrid, green, scaly monster whispered into Frank's ear just before he slammed the Punisher into the wall again.

Woozy and losing blood, Frank Castle fought to stay awake. This man-monster, this Killer Croc, as he had been called by the guy in the black cape, was an abomination. There was nothing human about him, except that he walked on two legs and could talk. Other than that, this Killer Croc had apparently relished in whatever act he had to partake in to earn his name.

"How much punishment can you take?" Killer Croc said with saliva dribbling out of his lips. "What say we find out?"

Before the Punisher was crushed into a flat and immovable wall once more, something round and black sliced into Killer Croc's head. The shimmering half-circle wedged into Croc's forehead, but Frank knew it wouldn't kill him. He doubted it had even really hurt him.

"Ahhh!" Croc screamed. "Bats, if you can't wait your turn, that's fine with me!"

Killer Croc ripped the batarang out of his head and black blood poured out. Batman, also aware, mainly from experience, that the blow would barely do anything but annoy Killer Croc, lunged at the reptilian criminal. The monster's abilities stretched passed deformity and into near imperviousness. His healing powers were quite impressive, as Batman had witnessed firsthand. The Dark Knight knew that he couldn't hold back when it came to Killer Croc, and even though he wouldn't use totally lethal force, there was still a greater allowance for dirty fighting here.

The Punisher slumped to the floor as Killer Croc dropped him and caught Batman mid-flight. While Killer Croc had the obvious weight advantage, Batman's momentum was still great enough to knock the brute monster down. The pair tumbled to the wooden floor on the third floor of Doctor Strange's mansion, wrestling for leverage.

Batman silently tangled with the monster. It was not his forte to use quips or quotes, haikus or limericks. While some of his peers found banter distracting and beneficial during a fight, Batman more closely associated those things with his enemies, who were eccentric enough to mush such childish antics into their deadly crimes.

While Killer Croc's strength far surpassed that of Batman's, the Dark Knight still had the edge when it came to grappling. He had trained extensively and knew how to make an opponent's size work against him, as Killer Croc quickly realized when Batman slipped out of his grasp and placed him in a choke hold.

"Some use you are," Killer Croc gargled between choking noises. "Owl! I'm talking to you! A little help?"

A slightly pudgy man wearing a green cloak looked over his shoulder at the downed Punisher, the aggravated Batman, and the rasping Killer Croc. His red and brown hair, feathered out like the animal of his namesake, was pressed down on the sides by the strap of his thick goggles.

"I only came to see what I might gain from entering a place like this," the Owl said as he tucked a thick tome into his cloak. "Now that I have my prize, I think I'll be going."

"Owl!" Croc screamed in anger, but it was not enough to stop the criminal planner and mastermind from using the silver claw around his right wrist to smash the glass in the study. Levitating off the ground, the Owl mock saluted Killer Croc as he whisked himself away out of the manor, stealing a mysterious and ancient book.

The Owl had only accepted the proposition to come against the gathered heroes because of where their destination had lain. Leland Owsley wasn't stupid; like his namesake he was wise and cunning. His plan all along had been to dislodge himself of the other 'villains' as soon as possible once inside the Sanctum Sanctorum and then find something of value.

What he had stumbled upon, there in the third floor study of Doctor Strange, was a tome that would help him change the world forever in his favor. With the collection of heroes stuck inside Strange's house, he would have plenty of time to research the book and learn its secrets for his own benefit.

Of course, that left Killer Croc alone to fight Batman, which typically wouldn't have worried the monster. "Piece of…doesn't matter."

Killer Croc took in a deep breath and enlarged his chest, holding the air in. This gave him enough leverage to loosen Batman's grip, which he took full advantage of. Grabbing the Dark Knight's wrists, he flung the vigilante off his back and into a book case on the far wall. He followed the move up with a vicious and snarling roar, baring his teeth for the hero to see.

"The bigger they are…" the forgotten Frank Castle muttered.

Killer Croc looked down beside him where the Punisher sat, just in time to see his leg kick out and slam into his own knee. Croc buckled under the hit; no amount of strength would refrain his knee joint from giving out. It was a cheap hit, but one that the Punisher was not above taking.

"Son of a—"

"Uh-uh," Frank said as drying blood flecked off of his lips. He leveled the barrel of his Magnum, which had up until this point been resting in his shoulder holster, at Killer Croc's face and squeezed the trigger. The resulting bang kicked Croc to the floor in a slumped heap as the monster's black and putrid blood mixed with the crimson on the Punisher's face.

Another batarang flew across the room, this time striking Frank Castle's hand. He lost his grip and dropped the weapon, a straight reflection of his first encounter with the Dark Knight earlier that evening.

Batman was on top of his before he could move to retaliate. "No guns," Batman stated coldly as he gripped the Punisher by the collar of his black t-shirt. "Croc is down. Enough. Next time I won't bother warning you."

"You go easy on these guys like this all the time?" Frank asked with a curt smile. "I bet they come back over and over again, huh? Yeah, I bet."

Batman, disgusted, dropped Frank and let him fall to his knees, having been too weak to stand on his own. The disfigured Killer Croc was bleeding profusely, his black blood creating a pool under his own head. The Dark Knight checked for a pulse, found one, and placed a pair of small, gray adhesives on both sides of Croc's head.

"What are you doing?" the Punisher inquired through heavy breathing. "Does a guy like that even have a pulse?"

"I'm not resuscitating him," Batman answered. "His head wound will thread itself back together in the next half hour and it will be like nothing happened. These amplifiers I designed will keep his brainwaves at a constant alpha level. He won't wake up until I want him to."

"Oh, control freak then? That's your angle? I can relate to that one." The Punisher tried to stand up and ended up falling back against the wall. "Shit. No wonder you keep them alive. You probably get off on crazy assholes like this fruit."

Batman continued to set the amplifiers on Croc's temples, adjusting the settings on the controller on his utility belt. When he was finished he stood up and exited the study into the hallway, ignoring the bloody Punisher on the floor. He knew he was on the third floor, and he knew that the heart of the city's problems lay in the basement. Given what he had seen already, he couldn't be sure of what to expect in the mansion.

He took off down the hallway toward what he hoped would be a staircase, his black cape flapping behind him. The fight with Killer Croc had taken a little energy out of him, but he couldn't pause now. Not when high overhead the sky was darker than the blackest night was ever meant to be.

* * *

The Ja'ti Prism pulsated as random bits of stray magical energy flowed around it. The amalgamated villain, comprised of two of the darkest sorcerers that the multiverse had ever seen, readied another bolt of darkened green magic in the palm of his hand. His power doubled from the merging of souls, this man was possibly the most dangerous man on this or any other planet.

"Coward!" he screamed, his voice having an odd echo effect, as if two men were speaking as one. "Do not hide behind such primitive barriers!"

The golden helmet of Nabu, firmly set over the head of the one called Doctor Fate, slunk behind one of the pillars lining the rounded basement chamber. "Perhaps he is not aware of the mystical fortitude of these structures," Fate remarked to his colleague.

Doctor Strange, who was similarly hidden behind another pillar, replied, "It seems this abomination relishes in brute force as opposed to finesse. I endowed these pillars to disperse rampant energies that would fall off of my rituals. It's possible he doesn't detect the magic."

"Or it could be that he is concentrating so much on locking our own abilities down that he is blinded. That is something we can use to our advantage."

While the two masters of the magical arts would typically be casting spell after spell to deflect the advance of their foe, they found it impossible to do now do so. Upon barging into the chamber, the intertwined Mordo and Mordu had somehow been able to seal away the sources of the magicians' power.

"My magic may be cut off," Doctor Strange added, "but my other tricks aren't so easily discounted."

Waiting for a time when the sorcerer would pause between devastating blasts, Strange swung out from behind his pillar and clasped the golden amulet at his throat that held his flowing red cape in place.

"The _Eye of Agamotto_ will gaze upon you," Strange said. "Prepare yourself…if you can."

The sorcerer hurled another green bolt of lightning, but the Eye opened too quickly. A steady beam of white light, as pure as if it had been untouched by the universe altogether, cascaded over both the dark wizard and the magic missile. The green energy burnt away once the white light touched it, and the man the Eye was leering at took his first step back.

Mordo/Mordru flinched as his face became distorted. The scarred and pale expression wavered and for a moment a second face was superimposed over top of the first, baring separate and distinguishable facial features.

Fate stepped out from behind his pillar. "You presume much," the enchanter said as he raised his hands to helmet. "Your first mistake was thinking you had a chance of success."

A second burning light flared from the eyes of Fate's helmet and caught the dark wizard in much the same way that Strange's amulet did. Now that his magic had been released, he was able to tap into the vast power that the helmet afforded him. Whereas Strange's light forced the sorcerer to hesitate, Fate's light held him completely captive.

"The crossing has _begun_! There is no turning back! My master _will_ ascend!"

"And what master would that be?" Strange inquired as he stepped closer after closing the Eye. "Mordo…I expect as much foolishness from you. Who is pulling your strings now?"

"My god will ascend, Strange. Your arrogance will not go unpunished."

"Dormammu is a fool," Strange replied.

Fate scoffed. "Most would-be gods are. But Mordru…I sense Chaos Magic mixed into this. What does this 'crossing' have to do with an ascension?"

"And more importantly," Strange added, "_what_ is Dormammu trying to ascend _to_?"

A distinct rumbling erupted around them, silencing any answer that the dark pair of wizards might have given. The thin pink ray emitting from the Ja'ti Prism, barely visible as it maintained the bubble that ceased the progression of the black vortexes that sought to merge this world with another, fluttered.

The two dark wizards merged back together, returning to their pale form now that the Eye had shut. "In each of our universes there is a counterpart," he said. "The dark lord Dormammu is here what the Lords of Chaos are there. Their function is different, but their purpose is the same."

"Are you saying that your master is trying to ascend to a Lord of Chaos?" Fate questioned. "Impossible. The power that would take—"

"Has already been gathered."

"By the Vishanti!" Strange uttered with a gasp.

The Ja'ti Prism shook again, and with it, the entire city of New York. The dark vortexes of energy raging outside the pink bubble created by the Ja'ti Prism condensed, focusing their energy inward. High above the city, the black inklings of trans-dimensional clouds molded into one form that was much wider at the top than at the bottom, much like a funnel.

The tip of this funnel was aimed directly over top of the Sanctum Sanctorum, spinning furiously. The energy of the mystical shield created by the Ja'ti Prism began to filter down through the funnel and back into its point of origin.

"You had a purpose in coming here," Fate said.

Strange added, "You never intended to stop us."

"No." The dark wizard raised his hands, shattering the light of Fate's helmet into fragments that scattered about the room. "I merely had to be near the Prism after you completed your spell work. I am no longer Mordru or Mordo…you may call me _Herald_, for I am the forerunner to the new Lord of Chaos, Dormammu!"

A burning face suddenly appeared inside the Ja'ti Prism, sneering at the pair of Doctors. His mouth was distorted amongst the flames that seemed unending, and which burned darker than could be conceivable.

"I must thank you, Strange," the fiery face of Dormammu said from inside the Prism. "You and your lackeys did my work for me. To think after all these years the simplest way to make you useful to me was to hide right under your nose. All I had to do was open the doorway, and you ushered me through."

Doctor Strange peered into the Prism with discontent, realizing that he had been played by the creature that could be called his greatest enemy. The answer as to just how it had all happened was not yet before him, but that was not important.

"Now I take my place between these two universes," Dormammu continued, "and ascend to my throne as a true Lord of Chaos!"

* * *

TO BE CONCLUDED…


	4. Chapter 4

**CITY OF CHAOS #4**

Written by D. Golightly

* * *

Darkness.

A booming maelstrom of noise.

Clea, wife to this realm's Sorcerer Supreme, and incredibly powerful magician in her own right, blinked the haze from her eyes. The cold touch of stone embraced her once her senses came back. She felt it sapping away her warmth, bleeding off her will. She heard a commotion and tried to remain conscious, if only just long enough to witness what was happening.

The fog lifted and she saw clearly now that she had managed to raise her head up. She was in Stephan's basement ritual chamber, a room she seldom came to lest her husband required her assistance with an incantation. She propped herself up on her arms and fought the desire to pass out.

"_Death is only a door…"_

That voice. She recognized that voice. That evil and malevolent voice. She had waged battles that would rip the cosmos asunder against the owner of that voice. She imagined that when she finally passed away, that voice would be present, mocking her. Was she dead? Had she died here in the ritual chamber?

She blinked again, focusing and pushing the darkness out of her eyes that had begun to creep in again. In the center of the room, propped up on a stone pedestal, was the Ja'ti Prism, a relic she had only heard of during her interdimensional travels.

But it wasn't the Prism that precisely caught her attention, rather the imagery of her husband and another trusted ally being physically _yanked_ inside it. The pink vortex that had sprung forth from the top of the Prism had now inversed, pulling the two magicians inside its eerie edges.

At the center of the vortex was the face of the otherworldly nightmare, the being whose words had shaken the cobwebs from her mind.

Dormammu.

* * *

The steps seemed endless inside the mansion. One black boot was placed in front of another, steadily moving town the spiraling staircase, yet a bottom hadn't yet been seen. The Batman had dealt with magic before, but it was never something he felt comfortable with. He prided himself on accounting for all variables, but with magic, the variables even had variables. It was nearly impossible to expect the unexpected when the world could be turned upside down with the wave of a wand.

His cape clung to his back, pushed there in an effort to hasten his flight. He had left Killer Croc incapacitated, but the sooner he could wrap this case up and find a better containment for not only him, but the other villains in the household, the better. He doubted that someone like the Punisher, one of Strange's supposed heroes from this world, was qualified to round up his rogue's gallery.

As he rounded another bend in the staircase, he suddenly saw the first sign of something existing in the house other than simple stairs since he started his descent: a hallway. The stairs continued down, but since the hallway was the last chance he knew of to detach from the never-ending drop, he took it.

Red carpet draped the floor with several doors, all closed, lining the hallway. He carefully walked down the corridor, wondering how close he was to the basement chamber where this all began.

If his reflexes hadn't been honed by years of constant practice, the Batman may have been tackled by the body that was thrown through a nearby wall.

"Son of a…" Green Arrow muttered as he staggered to his feet. He stretched his back, trying to shake out the kinks in his spine from hitting the wall. "Bats. Just the man I'd like to smack. Give me a hand here, will ya?"

The cavalier attitude of Oliver Queen was one that Batman was used to. Truthfully, it was one of the reasons he respected the pseudo-Robin Hood. He knew that Ollie thinly veiled his own personality behind the playboy routine, which was something the man beneath the cowl had come to understand.

Batman nodded, subjecting himself to Green Arrow's lead. The archer bound back into the hole he had just punched through the wall with his body and dropped down the dozen feet to the cold ground of the courtyard within the middle of the mansion. The night air struck Batman's exposed chin and cause him to sharply breathe in. The sky was no longer filled with either the raging black storm that had first alerted him to the chaos in his city, or the pink hue of a supposed mystic shield they had recently put into place. Something had changed.

The first thing the Dark Knight noticed was the Scarecrow, a repugnant man that used fear as a weapon, bent over a man in red, screaming obscenities. A few feet from them was a man in purple and orange who was bouncing from one foot to the other gleefully.

"Batroc has not taught this newcomer a lesson, _oui_?" he said. "Come, dark one, so that I may school you as I did your green friend."

"Keep flappin' those gums, Frenchie," Green Arrow said as he wiped the back of his fist across his mouth. "Won't be getting any easier once I give you a fat lip."

"Arrogant Americans."

Batroc ducked under Green Arrow's first punch and easily spun away, lightly kicking him in the lower back as he turned. Batman knew that Ollie needed his help, but the man in red needed it more. The Scarecrow would grow tired of bullying his prey and would soon move in for the killing stroke.

"Tell me…_what do you see_?" the Scarecrow asked. "Are worms burrowing into your fingers? Is your skin flaking off to reveal some inner demon?"

Daredevil's screams were beginning to die down as his throat became raw. He didn't know how long ago he had succumbed to the fear toxin in his system, but even a few minutes was long enough. Without his eyesight to propel the horrifying visions, his mind was free to wander and make the illusions more real. He could feel the pressure on his skin. He could taste the sweat dripping down his face. He could hear the cries of those he couldn't save.

"Genophobia, kakorrhaphiophobia, or nostophobia? Perhaps a touch of nyctophobia with a dash of ochlophobia. Or are you more complex? Given your attire, I might even wager uranophobia."

The Scarecrow removed a slender knife from his belt and bent over the shaking Daredevil. He gently cut into the vigilante's shoulder, but the mental trap that the Man Without Fear was held in kept him from even twitching.

"Without further input I'm afraid this bit of my research will have to conclude."

Scarecrow raised the knife and shifted his weight forward, intending to plunge the blade into Daredevil's neck. As he brought his clasping fist down, something struck his wrist and caused him to drop the knife. He clutched at his hand, sensing the familiar pain. He ripped his attention from Daredevil, knowing who was nearby.

He didn't get the chance to say a single word before the Batman was on top of him. They rolled, Batman's cape fluttering over them both, blocking any watcher from what was happening. When they stopped, Batman stood; Scarecrow did not.

The Dark Knight rushed to Daredevil's side. He pulled a hypo-spray from his utility belt and pressed it against Daredevil's neck. Within seconds the angst-filled euphoria that plagued the Man Without Fear died away and his breathing returned to normal.

He gasped and tilted his head. "Thanks," he told Batman. "I've never seen Hell, but I imagine that wasn't far off."

He helped the red-garbed vigilante to his feet. "Can you walk?"

"Yes. I…what's happening over there?"

Green Arrow charged Batroc, slamming the butt of his bow into the Frenchman's chin. It was one of the few strikes that he had been able to land, given how fluid the villain was. Batroc returned the hit with a quick jab to Green Arrow's ribs, followed by an uppercut that knocked Ollie down.

Batman moved to action, but Daredevil pressed his hand against the Dark Knight's chest. "Wait. I'll handle it."

For someone who had undergone the torturous methods of Dr. Jonathon Crane, Daredevil seemed very acute. His breathing was becoming more tempered and his general demeanor had barely changed to reflect the trial he had undergone. Batman reasoned he must have undergone training as intense as his own if he was recovering this quickly.

Daredevil's hand swept to his thigh, grasped a thick pronged stick, and launched it at Batroc. The distance of thirty feet made no difference; his aim was exact. The club smacked Batroc in the back of the skull just as Green Arrow was about to charge again. The French martial artist fell to his knees and then slumped over, unconscious.

"Oh, sure, after I loosened him up for ya," Green Arrow said.

Batman eyed up Daredevil, realizing that there as more to this man then he first assumed. No one could have done what he had, not after being brutally assaulted by Scarecrow in his signature manner. Batman had felt the fear toxin before. He knew he hard it was to shake off, even with the antidote.

The three heroes came together in the center of the courtyard. Green Arrow rubbed at a bruise on his face, saying, "You got anything we can tie these guys up with before we look for the others?"

"Ask and ye shall receive!"

A thick gob of webbing sheathed the bottom of Batroc's legs. The heroes heard twin thumps to the right and turned to see two other villains wrapped in a similar manner. A man, whose grotesque features marked him as none other than Two-Face, and a woman, the punk-style Shriek, lay bound inside cocoons of solidified webbing. With one heel propped up on Two-Face's side, Catwoman returned their stares with a smile and a purr.

Spider-Man dropped down beside her and traced their stares, then looked back at them, then back at Catwoman again. "I know, right?" he said with a thumbs-up. "Can you believe it? She's with me. Felicia's going to be _pissed_."

* * *

"Fitting, is it not?"

Dormammu stood over both doctors, Strange and Fate, hovering with pride like a vulture ready to feast. Between the cracks of dimensional barriers, inside the Ja'ti Prism, the wizards were at his mercy. Chained to shards of rock on either side of Dormammu's makeshift throne, both cloaks of the sorcerer's were now ragged and useless.

"I say it is fitting," Dormammu continued as he turned to gaze down the hill they were atop, "because we first met in a dimension very similar to this. The Dark Dimension, I believe most call it. I would prefer to end your life there, Strange, but I will take what I can get."

"You have a history with this lower demon?" Fate asked.

"Silence!" the amalgamated enchanter now called Herald screamed as he slapped the back of Fate's helmet. "My master is more powerful than you could dare dream, and when the crossing is complete—"

"I will arise to be a Lord of Chaos," Dormammu finished. "I have already bested you, Fate. Strange knows better than to make lowly remarks. My Herald, a perfect blend of our worlds, is but a demonstration of how magnificent I will become."

"Without a soul to sell," Strange interrupted, "how did you come across the means to orchestrate this? Jumping across the gaps of reality, hiding away inside the Ja'ti Prism, manipulating the laws of the universe. It is beyond you."

Herald cast a small spell of agony and spiraled it around Strange's head. The green energy ripped into his psyche and tortured his mind, but Strange did not scream. He refused to give them the satisfaction.

"Nothing is beyond my master," Herald chanted.

"When we last met and you banished me yet again, I found myself caught in a sort of Limbo," Dormammu explained. "It nearly killed me to do so, but I pulled my spirit into a hallway between dimensions, a link to what some I have heard call the Multiverse. Rooms upon rooms reached into endless possibilities. I daresay I might even go back there when I ascend, to a place of pure power referenced as hypertime. But I saw the tower of Fate, learned of the Lords of Chaos, and knew that to fulfill my destiny as a conqueror I must become one of them."

Dormammu waved Herald away, who was delighting in the torment he cast on Strange. "But to ascend…I would risk extinguishing my own power to do it. Therefore, I used you to gather the panoramic fearful energy of an entire city, funneling their angst directly into me. I am nearly ready. All I need is one last bit of magical fuel to ignite the spell."

The demon lord snagged a handful of Strange's hair in his hand, clasping it between his pointy fingers. "And you shall provide it for me."

With his free hand, Dormammu stabbed his fingers into Strange's stomach. No blood was spilled, yet Strange was thrown into deep pain and panic. He felt his connection to magic itself, the life essence of the very universe, begin to slip away. His power, his ability to manipulate the fundamental energy of existence, was being drained away.

Dormammu swiped his claw out of Strange's stomach and sneered. "Do you see? I have already taken a portion of your power. Soon I will take it all, and then your life. I want you to die a worthless shade of your former self. I want you to be helpless."

"Strange!" Fate cried. His bound arms struggled against the chains, and if it were not for the enchantments he would have already broken free and come to his new friend's aid. "Focus! You must concentrate!"

"You are nearly ready, my master!" Herald shouted. He possessed a similar look on his face as their plans were nearly coming to fruition.

"One more bite at your soul, Strange," Dormammu said. "One more and you will be as you once were, a lame physician unable to hold a scalpel."

Dormammu raised his hand again, ready to plunge it into Stephen Strange's ebbing power. A thin whistle came from somewhere behind him, and before he knew what had happened, something stabbed into the back of his hand and exploded.

The demon roared, sending a shockwave of unearthly power rippling through the air. The stump where his hand had just been pulsated with black ooze. On the ground was the remnant of the weapon that had harmed him: a thin wooden shaft. He turned and narrowed his eyes as he watched a man garbed in green and gray ready another of his weapons, a simple arrow with a large explosive head on the tip.

Behind this archer were the other "heroes" that Strange had collected. The red Daredevil he knew well, but there were others that belonged to Fate's home. Dormammu concentrated and he delighted in watching his hand begin to reform. "Kill them, my Herald!"

The twisted dark wizard leapt into the air to meet the heroes as they filed out of a portal that had been conjured by the green oaf known as Rintrah. Strange's apprentice though he may be, he would be no match for Herald, or the horde of demonspawn he summoned as he flew.

Rows upon rows of grotesque netherworlders sprung up from the rocky terrain. Herald's summoning gave him control over them, even inside the compact universe that was the Ja'ti Prism. Fangs, claws, and tails snapped at the heroes as they collided.

"For a big green goat, you got some cool tricks," Spider-Man said as he sprung into the air and spun webbing over the closest demons.

"Goat?" the fledgling sorcerer inquired.

"Ignore him," the beautiful and luscious Clea answered as she cast a simple displacement spell to shatter the frail body of a demonspawn. "Get to Stephen. Wong?"

"Yes, my mistress," the warrior and servant of Doctor Strange responded. Twin swords leapt from his back and into his hands, where they quickly slashed through the throngs of demons threatening to overrun them.

The Batman flung a handful of his patented batarangs into the horde, slicing through their appendages. His cape swirled as he fought, careful to be mindful of his surroundings. The landscape was uneven and they were mostly out in the open. Tactically, it was not the best place to make their final stand. The coming Herald and his demonspawn had the high ground.

He heard bones shatter to his left, and when he turned he saw Daredevil standing over a demon that had flanked him. The demon shuddered before slipping into what he assumed was unconsciousness. Batman nodded in appreciation to his fellow vigilante and returned his attention to the task at hand.

Catwoman's whip sliced through the demon flesh easily. Her lithe body bounded between their striking claws, which rarely connected with his soft skin. Green Arrow, who had claimed the first strike, was having less luck now with hitting his mark. Spider-Man's great agility proved the best asset as he weaved between the dark soldiers, providing back-up where it was most needed.

But it was the trinity formed by Strange's entourage that made the most progress up the hill. Clea blazed through the demons with fiery spells lighting her way. Wong cut down any that slipped by her. Rintrah, with his great strength, picked away at the demons that tried to surround them. They had come to the foot of the hill and Dormammu was coming within reach.

"I'm coming, Stephen!" she cried.

Wong slashed down a sickly demon that nearly came close enough to his lady Clea to touch her. His service in the field was reserved for a time most needed, and today there seemed to be no greater need within his memory. He had been there when his master had first met with Clea and brought her to their home, and he was proud to fight beside her.

Both of his swords spun through the air like lightning, striking down any adversary that came near. Physical charges were like nothing to him. As long as they worked in tandem they would reach the top of the hill and have victory secured.

But as nearly invulnerable as he was when it came to hand-to-hand combat, he wasn't nearly as protected against mystical offense.

A bolt of green energy smashed into his face and struck him down, sending him into Rintrah's stout legs behind him. Herald, the distorted melding of two men called Mordo and Mordru, swung down and blasted Clea's magic defenses with a spell powerful enough to split the ground. She recoiled and stumbled back, and the nearly silent hum of her magical shield died off.

Herald landed in front of her and preened. He grabbed her by the hair and said, "Foolish little girl that likes to play with magic."

A lance of green power made solid extended from Herald's hand. With a disturbing cry of adulation he stabbed down into Clea's throat, easily slicing into her delicate body.

Stephen watched in horror as his beloved, his betrothed, fell to her knees. She clutched her throat but she could not stop the flow of blood from her open veins. She wobbled and fell at Herald's feet. Doctor Strange screamed in agony and struggled against his bonds again, this time fueled by the rage that filled him.

"Enough," Dormammu scolded as he slapped Strange across the face. "She is dead. I only regret that her death could not be by my own hand, and that I could not draw it out more in front of you. If there was one that I could possibly despise more than you, it was her."

The wicked demon lord bent down and picked up Strange by his torn collar. His bruised and bloodied face barely resembled the handsome surgeon from years ago. His head tilted to the side, his neck too frail and his muscles too tired to hold it up properly. A trickle of blood drooled out of the corner of open mouth.

"Believe me when I tell you, Strange…this moment will forever mark when I became a _god_."

A blast too loud to be anything natural stopped Dormammu from dealing the killing stroke. The echo of the boom stretched into the distance of the rolling and rocky field upon which the grouped heroes made their last stand against the demon horde. Most paused, shaken by the sudden explosion, and looked back to the portal.

Herald lazily fingered the gaping wound in his stomach. Directly behind him, stepping out of the portal, was a man bearing a weapon larger than his own arm. The muzzle puked out smoke and its owner, the Punisher, pulled back the firing pin to load the next round.

"A 50-calibur might be overkill," the Punisher said as he hobbled through the portal, "but it sure as hell gets the job done."

The entity comprised of Mordo and Mordru, Herald, fell down beside the woman he had just murdered. The hole punched through his abdomen by the Punisher's weapon was too much for his body to cope with, despite the lashing tendrils of black magic trying to support him. Herald slowly stopped breathing and the fire behind his eyes extinguished.

"Don't know why someone didn't do that before," Frank Castle said.

"You arrogant fool!" Dormammu cried out.

Strange shook free of Dormammu's grasp and dropped back to the ground. With his arms still bound, he charged the demon lord at the knees, hoping to knock him down at the very least. Even though he was hurt and nearly dead, there was fire behind Strange's actions.

The feeble attempt to dismount Dormammu from the hill failed as Strange merely succeeded in bruising his shoulder. The pseudo-Lord of Chaos struck Strange aside in irritation, tossing him into Doctor Fate. The pair collided and tumbled over, sliding partially down the slope.

"Has the universe gone mad," Dormammu exclaimed, "that simple ants could hope to defy me? I will strike you all down one by one!"

"Strange!" Fate whispered. Behind his golden helmet the agent of the Lords of Order watched his only ally barely stir. "Strange, can you hear me?"

"Fate…"

"Strange, you must focus! Listen to what I have to tell you or we will all be doomed!"

Dormammu leapt through the air and landed at the base of the hill. He swatted aside the demons that Herald had summoned, which were now running amok since their summoner was dead. The fire that encapsulated the demon lord's head burned blue, its intensity having grown considerably from his mounting anger.

A pair of batarangs latched to the side of Dormammu, which he plucked out easily and discarded on the ground. "Toys!" Dormammu said. "You assault me with toys!"

Within the blink of an eye, the Batman's neck was between Dormammu's fingers. The Dark Knight clutched Dormammu's wrist but he couldn't hope to break the grasp, no matter how much leverage he could muster.

"If you fight like a child then you shall die like one, weeping from the terror and pain that I will show you. Dormammu cannot be stopped!"

Spider-Man entangled Dormammu's legs in thick webbing but with a shrug of his mystic aura the webbing snapped. Catwoman slashed her whip at Dormammu's back but it was nothing more than a breeze to him. Wong, breathing heavily from where he watched over Rintrah, who cradled the body of Clea in his furry arms, gripped his sword tightly and prepared to charge. An arrow from Green Arrow's quiver raced toward Dormammu's head but it splintered with but a look from the demon lord's gaze. Daredevil looked up from where he was helping the Punisher keep his balance, aware that there was nothing he could do.

"This is the reason I exist," Dormammu said.

A shimmering golden energy mixed with Dormammu's fragrant fire, sealing off the blue flame atop his head. The demon lord choked back his breath, as if something had disconnected him from his surroundings.

"And _this_ is the reason _I_ exist," Doctor Strange said as he floated through the air toward them.

Golden power engulfed the battlefield, shimmering out of the pristine helmet of Fate that was now worn by Stephen Strange. His bonds broken and his power changed by the helmet, Doctor Strange descended on to Dormammu with magicks he had never touched before, magicks from another dimension.

Atop the hill sat Fate, his helmet freely given to Strange. Fate had lacked the power alone to shatter his bonds, but at his command the helmet gifted to him by Nabu had been transferred to Strange's brow, where it mixed with the residual power of the Sorcerer Supreme. It had opened avenues of magic never accessed before, empowering Strange to break free of Dormammu's chains.

Dormammu dropped Batman, who bounded back up out of instinct and slipped away immediately. A golden shell formed around Dormammu completely and the flames around his head completely died away. A wisp of smoke was all that remained.

"No! This cannot be! Impossible!"

"You are so ready to deal out death," Strange said. "I wonder…will you greet her with open arms?"

Magic had always seemed astounding to Stephen Strange, even after he had mastered its practice. From the first days of his apprenticeship under the Ancient One to his private studies in his home, magic was an amazing thing that he found great mystery in. Now that he wore the helmet of Nabu, a true Lord of Order, he saw magic in a different light. What had once seemed mysterious now looked methodical. Instead of hidden secrets he saw disguised truths. Whatever universe Fate hailed from, the very concept of magic was different from what he understood.

"No!" Dormammu said defiantly with his hands pressed against the gold capsule that held him in place.

"This reality, or any other, will shed no tears for you."

The helmet masking his face glowed brilliantly as Strange mixed his own understanding of magic with the operations of Fate's powerbase. Dormammu cried out one last time as the interior of the golden bubble he was trapped in filled with energy. It burned away his demon flesh and pain the demon lord never conceived of feeling overtook him.

There was a blinding flash.

And then there was nothing.

* * *

**EPILOGUE**

His magic had been ripped from him.

Stephen Strange, the prideful Sorcerer Supreme of his home dimension, tugged his red overcoat closer. The leather coat had replaced his typical swirling shroud, which was now in tatters. A chill wind had swept through, adding a plague of discomfort to the already dismal day.

The crisis was over. Dormammu destroyed. Fate had reclaimed his helmet and stolen away with those that belonged elsewhere. It should be a time for cheer.

He felt as if a piece of him was missing, and in a sense, it was. Dormammu had bitten away a segment of his power. Upon the demon's death it had been dispersed instead of returning to Strange as it should; perhaps a final act of bitter defiance. He couldn't help but question his role as Sorcerer Supreme now. Was the rank still his if his magic had been cut in half?

But these thoughts weren't at the forefront of his mind. He kept that problem nestled somewhere behind his emotions, which were in danger of bowling over his consciousness. Strange counted himself among disciplined men. Allowing his emotions to get the better of him wasn't something that could happen.

"Rintrah has the portal open, master. We should leave."

Strange didn't budge. His assistant and longtime confidant, Wong, silently bowed and stepped away. A glimmering portal, not unlike the one that Rintrah had conjured the day before during the battle with Dormammu, or the one Fate used to take his people back to their own dimension, waited on the other side of the floating boulder upon which they all stood. In the Dark Dimension, Clea's true home and now final resting place, segments of rock floating through the abyss were commonplace.

He had first encountered Clea in this place, and while he was unaware of her past at the time, he knew that she was special. She had always been there when he needed her, as she had proven in the final battle.

Leaving her body buried on this rock was against his wishes, but not against hers. It was where she waited to be placed. Even though it pained him to turn away from her grave and enter the portal back to Earth, he did it.

Rintrah and Wong waited quietly at the portal's entrance. Strange paused before stepping in to join them, looking over his shoulder one last time at the marker placed above Clea's grave. He kept his thoughts to himself and entered the portal, choosing not to brood.

There was work to be done.

* * *

**END**

But look for the new ongoing series **DR. STRANGE** soon!


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